


A Walk in the Westwood

by Port



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-24
Updated: 2007-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 05:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1633973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Port/pseuds/Port
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He'd had only a threadlike sense of connection to him, and the thin assurance of the Aiel's refusal to grieve."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Walk in the Westwood

**Author's Note:**

> Beta thanks to dragojustine and carina84 on LJ. Foxtwin, hope you enjoy! Thanks for the prompts!
> 
> Written for foxtwin

 

 

Mat is not surprised to see Rand standing on a frozen bluff, some distance away. Hard to tell how far, with his depth perception the way it is, but the tall figure is clearly Rand. Mat only sees him when he visits the Two Rivers, and he wonders if Rand simply travels here often, or whether he senses somehow when Mat is present in their old home. Their last meeting had been a year ago, also in the Westwood, and noteworthy for the healthy color in Rand's skin and the lax set of his shoulders... so different from the pale and suffering shadow who had appeared out of nowhere to greet Mat and Pip, a year after the Last Battle. That had been noteworthy in itself, for Mat hadn't known for sure Rand had survived. He'd had only a threadlike sense of connection to him, and the thin assurance of the Aiel's refusal to grieve.

Mat raises his hand, waves, and receives an answering signal before Rand starts down toward him. They meet halfway and grasp left hands in the middle of a snowfield, and Mat is surprised and not displeased to find himself in a brief embrace. Rand pulls away, and they share a wordless moment before Mat grins and points in the other direction.

"I was hunting for deer."

Rand nods and they set off in search of game.

~~

It's a tricky thing, balancing their loyalties and their friendship. Rand won't tell him where he lives, if he even lives in any one place. Given Rand's prior connection with Elayne, Mat can't go into detail on his everyday affairs in the Court of the Nine Moons, which rules the West as far as Altara and the border of Andor. There is peace for now, but no alliance. Negotiations have been hard, almost impossible. East and West have nearly insurmountable differences, and Mat is the one left standing with one foot on each side of the divide. At any moment, that chasm could split wider, and down he'll go.

It's a relief not to trade much news with Rand. It certainly simplifies matters when a walk in the woods is merely a walk in the woods. No politics, no trouble. If only the rest of his life followed that rule. He's curious about Rand's fate, but content with the basic knowledge that his friend survived Tarmon Gai'dan. 

So when he asks, it's more of a tease than a real question.

"How are the Aiel?"

"How are the Seanchean?" Rand counters, with a hint of dryness.

"Touché," Mat mutters. How would he have answered that, though? Those differences between East and West extend into his own personal dealings more than he'd expected. And he'd expected a difficult time. Still, Mat finds himself perking up. "Tuon is well."

Rand nods. "That's good."

And it's not that Mat wants to pry. The important thing is that Rand has found a sanctuary somewhere, no matter that it remains private, even from Mat. So he's surprised to hear the words leave his fool mouth: "And how is..." --he takes a blind leap-- "Aviendha?"

He'd expected another parry, even a warning. Instead, a small, secretive smile plays on Rand's lips. 

"I knew it! Thom and Birgitte owe me fifty silver crowns each." As he'd told them, it only stood to figure that if Rand had indeed retired to the Waste, Aviendha would be at his side. As he understands it, she visits Elayne in Andor frequently, but for the most part lives with her people. Mat tells himself he's pleased because he's right, and not for the goat-headed reason that Rand revealed it in the first place.

"The same old Mat," Rand says. "Your luck may not be as good as you think, though. Who did Thom and Birgitte bet on?" He speaks as one who already knows the answer to his own question, and Mat gets the feeling he shouldn't count on those silver coins after all. 

Movement distracts him, though, and he turns to study the edge of the meadow. When he holds up a hand for silence, Rand falls quiet, and Mat nocks his longbow. Together, they creep forward. It's a deer, a buck with short horns, grazing along the tree-line, head down. Mat grins. He'd wondered whether anything was to be found this morning.

"They were convinced you had secretly married Elayne," he whispers, sighting along the arrow. It's more of a conscious process nowadays. 

Rand has an amused note in his voice when he asks, "Has anyone bet on Min?"

Mat has his shot. "No. Why? I thought you said you were with Aviendha."

"I'm married to them all," Rand says quietly, just as Mat releases the shaft.

He misses his target by ten feet, and his arrow disappears soundlessly into a snowdrift. The young buck snaps its head up and gallops into the woods, also disappearing.

Rand frowns after it. "This surprises you."

"Yes, it surprises me," Mat sputters, turning to Rand with his hand raised. The buck is gone, so he can raise his voice too, if he wants to. "Light, are you serious? You married _all three of them_? Do they know this?"

Rand raises one eyebrow. "If you believe there can be any secrets between those three, you're as big a fool as I would be for trying to deceive them."

"No one ever said you weren't a fool," Mat points out. That much is for certain now, anyway. _Three_ wives?

"Nor you, Mat." Rand breaks into a grin, instantly shedding ten years from his appearance. "After--everything--can anything truly surprise you?"

It's on the tip of his tongue to answer an emphatic yes, but he does remember the Aiel custom. If Rand counts himself one of them now, then perhaps he would indeed have adopted it, with Aviendha's blessing. But Min and Elayne? Surely not.

Then again, neither woman had ever made it a secret how she felt about Rand. The fact of his survival might have actually countered their objections. He has to admit, when Rand finally revealed his survival to Mat, after a long year of trouble and regret, Mat might have done anything Rand asked of him. So perhaps this news should not be such a shock. Which isn't to say Mat's not flabbergasted. Because he is. 

Also, he realizes, he has no deer. Mat glares across at his friend.

"You've lived too long with the Aiel," Mat says. "You're developing their sense of humor."

While Rand chews on that, Mat treads across the broad snowfield, peering into the bare trees at its border. The buck had run west, into the thicker part of the woods, but he's undoubtedly left a track in the fresh snow. The only question is, how far does Mat care to follow him? 

Rand is soon enough at his side again. Mat glances at him frequently as they make their way along the deer's trail. Rand's face is a hard thing, the skin leathery, worn by care and the winds of a hundred lands. His ruddy hair is cut in the Aiel style, and he has something of their manner about him, too. Mat supposes a few years in their society would account for as much. In view of that, he should have seen this coming. But he shakes his head. Isn't one wife enough?

The bewilderment must show on Mat's face, for Rand laughs. It's a stony sound, but probably not intentionally so. It's an old soldier's laugh, though Rand is not yet thirty.

"Bloody ashes! How did you talk them into such a thing?"

Rand shakes his head. " _They_ talked _me_ into it, Mat."

"Oh." He stops short. "Well, that does sound about right." Aiel or no Aiel, Mat doubts that idea could occur to any man raised in the Two Rivers. Or any woman, for that matter. He can imagine how Egwene or Nynaeve would greet the suggestion from Gawyn or Lan. 

"What are you laughing at?" Rand demands, his ears turning red. "I'm not the only married man in this forest."

And even if Rand did have three wives, at least he didn't marry any of them by accident, Mat concedes to himself. Not that he regrets it. It's just the principle of the thing. "Would I laugh at you?" Mat asks, dryly. Rand rolls his eyes, and they walk on.

They pass the area where the buck stopped running and began to walk. The tracks disappear into a stream that courses through a bed of rocks and smooth, round pebbles and, a little ways off, down a slope. A few miles away, if he remembers correctly, the slope gets steeper, and the stream becomes a small waterfall, one that disappears into a wooded ravine. He recalls it from hunting trips as a boy, though most of his memories of the Two Rivers are as misty as the mountains to the west.

Mat's vision is not what it used to be, he thinks with a grim humor and a compulsive touch to his eye patch. "Can you see where it went?"

Rand shrugs. Perhaps he'd be more interested in the hunt if he were able to hold and shoot a bow, though he does not seem to mind the handicap. _Probably because he can channel an arrow of Air and hit a deer at twice the distance even my longbow can._

"Across the stream," Rand says, pointing at the mud on the far bank. Mat spots a few hoof prints, and nods, but like Rand, makes no move to follow them.

The sun is rising, turning the forest a pale shade of gray and burning away the fog. They stand and listen to the stream race along the rocks, defying the ice that has formed at its edges. His and Rand's breath clouds in front of them, like tabac smoke, and it is so different from the way it used to be. As boys, he, Rand and Perrin had believed hunting trips were adventures; they'd explored the Westwood, carrying bows taller than they were, wandering far afield. Now, the forest is a refuge from real adventures, dangerous ones. 

He'd never believed he would need that refuge. Mat seldom, if ever, used to yearn for the Two Rivers. Not the way Rand and Perrin did. Not that he can blame them. Now, though, he visits occasionally, and takes pleasure in showing it to Tuon. He's pretty sure he'd go mad living in Emond's Field, but he keeps coming back for brief stays. 

He's not sure why. He'd would rather be out in the world where the excitement is, or at home in Ebou Dar, with Tuon. His life is made of trouble, but trouble comes with its own rewards, doesn't it? It really doesn't occur to him to miss this place... most of the time. 

Even if he didn't, though, he supposes the prospect of crossing paths again with Rand would--and will--always have him returning.

They enjoy the effects of the unseen sunrise until finch calls fill the air. The buck must be long gone, but Mat doesn't mind. In a minute, he'll tease Rand about having three women at home waiting for him, and then he'll ask after them. They'll walk the Westwood, and discuss what they can, and at the next round of peace negotiations, Mat will grin across the table at Elayne. 

He's pretty sure she'll smile back.

The End. 

 


End file.
